Still fighting this depression bout. I got my period after eight months without it. I've read that if I go without it for an entire year it means I'm actually in menopause. Well, I've been dealing with menopausal issues for about five years already, so does that put me back to square one? I hope not. The most difficult part is that I'm so darn self-conscious. My self-esteem, never great, has just completely bottomed. It didn't help that I lost a lucrative long-term writing assignment with no explanation besides "not a good fit."  What's that supposed to mean? I wrote a long, involved piece, well, I thought. It hit every criteria. So in my menopausal/PMS/ sensitivity (which ironically is what the articles are about) I immediately assume that I'm an utter screw up. I can't shake that notion. I just can't see the forest for the trees. I wish someone would just say that I'm no good. Then I could maybe I would start sticking up for myself and stopping finding fault with everything I do. Honestly, I feel like Eve White/Eve Black sometimes. I wish Jane would show up.



Maybe I'll never find my niche. Maybe I've already found it and I just need to embrace it and run with it. I think it's time I start trusting that inner voice I always tell others to follow. I think it's time I slowed down and started taking better care of myself like I'm always preaching. It's 11:30 p.m. and I've been working since 9 a.m. I took breaks to feed the family. That's not a life, it's drudgery. And I've no one to blame but myself. I wish I could be as nice to myself as I am to others. Dear God that sounds kitschy, but it's apt. Well, good night, my amanuensis. Maybe tomorrow...

Progress (in a relatively upward pattern) not perfection

I have a personal list of about eight habits I'm working to correct. Stuff like losing weight, exercise more, freelance productivity, update blogs regularly, drink less wine (gasp! yes, my 4th step admission), have fewer temper tantrums, be nicer to myself, etc. I've made a mental rubric of these habits and rate myself periodically on my progress in each (daily rating would be ideal, but I'm not that organized). 1-needs improvement, 2-meh, 3-not bad, 4-high five, mama. I add up my points and if I got more than 50 percent (16) I count it a good day. Less than that and I file it as a  not-so-hot one (which we are all entitled to have). I then release it. No good using it to flog myself with. Then I give thanks to my higher power for allowing me the day to live. This slow-and-steady system has helped me gently make self-tweaks where needed. Progress, (generally upward) not perfection. That's me two years and 40 pounds heavier. I'm taking weight loss in bite-sized portions (pun intended). 

Mommy Guilt--My Nemesis

Do you grapple with "mommy guilt?" You know, that nagging little voice in the back of your head that is never satisfied? That monkey on your back that damns you if you do and damns if you don't? Moms have an amazing capacity for guilt. If we make a nutritious, delicious meal for our family, we're beating ourselves up because we didn't get other work done. If we work late, we mentally whip ourselves for not playing with our kids more.

Listen girls, if you're a slave to your over-active conscience, let me tell you now: it's a lose-lose situation. Your inner taskmaster will never be satisfied. That's when you need to tell that little corporal to bugger off. If you burn a candle at both ends, you'll use it up four times as fast. Set goals, but don't always make them unattainable. I'm very guilt-prone. I know how it can plague. Guilt, to the point of scruples, has nearly driven me over the edge many times.

Please, learn to be nice to yourself. Don't count the things you didn't get done, count the things you did do. If you can't be nice to yourself for your sake, do it for your kids. Trust me--someday, you'll have to listen to your children agonize about what losers they are. It hurts. Like no one can convince you to be nice to yourself, you won't be able to convince them. And you'll think back and remember that it was you who taught them how to beat themselves up. So tell those voices I said to back off, huh? You're worth it.
Love, mar
P.S. (remember, I said there would be P.S.s) This goes for dads too. I should probably call it "parent guilt."